


Angry Cleaning

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Painkillers, Spring Cleaning, based on previews, canon blind character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt decides the best time to clean up the mess of boxes is after he trips over them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angry Cleaning

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a random conversation about boxes that could possibly be seen in the corner of a scene of the new preview.

Matt was angry. He'd lived in this apartment for how long now? Eight, nine months? And there are still boxes that aren't unpacked. One of which he just fell into, jarring his bruised ribs even more, the pain causing his hearing to fade out for one agonizing second. Stupid pain medication dulling his radar. Stupid bruised ribs and other assorted aches and pains and bruises all over that required the medication. Stupid B class villains that gave him the injuries.

 

So Matt was angry. At everyone and everything, but also himself. What sort of blind man leaves boxes in the middle of his living room to trip over?

 _One who isn't quite as blind as he seems,_ he reminded himself. Which was true. He could navigate around the boxes perfectly fine most of the time, but to keep up appearances, and apparently for when he was medicated, he should have cleaned them up long ago.

 

And what better time was there than the present?

Sighing just heavily enough to remind him of his aching ribs, Matt sat himself down next to a box and began sorting through it. He soon remembered why these boxes hadn't been unpacked. The first one was full of books. Not even braille books, but actual printed text books, which was... difficult to explain. Technically, they were still Foggy's books, but Matt had managed to get Foggy to keep them at his apartment, in some roundabout way that possibly involved food bribes. The trouble was getting Foggy to think that Matt was doing him a favour by keeping them, not the other way around. But the truth was, braille books were expensive and bulky and hard to get. So sometimes, for those hard to get books detailing the finer points of law, Matt just made do.

But they were still sitting in his living room.

Matt kicked aside the whole box after running his fingers over the spines and realizing the entire thing was law books.

 

He moved on to the next box, which contained an assortment of kitchen items and various decorations, which he had no use for. Being blind. The plates and other dishes were glass, which he preferred to avoid, simply because they were easily breakable. Even ceramic was sturdier, which was what most of his dishes were made of, with a heavy side of plastic. Tilting his head to one side, he considered the dishes.

Finally, he reached up and set them on the counter above him, stretching his protesting ribs a bit too much. He hissed, and clutched at them protectively, only after ensuring the glass plates weren't going to fall on his head. Because that was all he needed.

The decorative items he left in the box, which he shoved off to the side next to the books.

 

The third box was filled with fabric. No, clothes. But not clothes he wore with any frequency, which was why he hadn't noticed their absence in the how many months he'd been living there. He pulled the top one out and examined it. Pants, cotton, elastic waistband. Probably grey. Sweat pants. God, were they from his college days? He stretched the waist to test, and it rebounded happily. He shrugged, and slipped his torn pyjama pants off in lieu of the sweat pants, which were still soft inside. And look at that, they still fit. He moved onto the next articles of clothing in the box. A hoodie. Another hoodie. A sweater that made his skin crawl. Long underwear? Track pants. More sweat pants.

He just kept dumping them into a pile all around him.

T-shirt. Another skin crawling sweater. Button up shirt. Possible dress pants. Long sleeved shirt. Track pants.

He was running out of space. The pile of clothes around him was starting to spill into his lap. He shuffled around to make room, but only ended up sitting on them. It really didn't help.

He just kept pulling them out of the box, wondering how the hell he'd fit them in there in the first place when they seemed to fill his entire living room.

A scarf. Four ties, all looped together. Pants. Shorts. Cargo shorts. A t-shirt that no doubt was too small now. A sweater that felt surprisingly nice. He spent a few minutes rubbing it against his cheek, wondering why the hell he was doing this again.

He laid down in his clothing nest to contemplate it, using the soft sweater as a pillow and avoiding the scratchy ones.

Ah, right. It all led back to the pain medication, which was kicking in nicely right about now, and he was just drifting off into sleep...

 

* * *

 

When Foggy arrived an hour later, he was surprised, although not very shocked, to find Matt asleep on a pile of clothes in the living room.

Foggy merely smiled, and retrieved a blanket from the bedroom to cover him with.

 


End file.
